Christmas Eve and Twelve of the Clock
by JosephineLL
Summary: She's not doin' alright with her Christmas of white... Part 5 in the 'Major Romantics' series


Title:  Christmas Eve and Twelve of the Clock

Author: Josephine

Email: Lovellama@aol.com

Rating: PG

Codes: C/P. Davis

Category: Romance

Summary:  She's not doin' alright, with her Christmas of white…

A/N: This is the fifth in the 'Major Romantics' series.  Pt 1: Back East, Pt 2: Spice! The Carter Collection by Cincoflex, Pt 3 County Fair, Pt 4 Road Trip by Cincoflex.  Pt 6 is chugging along nicely.  

~~~~~

Sam nursed a cup of tea as she sat curled up on her couch, watching the snow fall.  She was in a nest of pillows leaning against the arm, an old afghan tucked around her.  It was late Christmas Eve, and the front room was only illuminated by the Christmas tree and the street lights reflecting off the thick flakes coming down.  A white Christmas was almost de rigueur in Colorado, but after the pathetic snows D.C. would get and the mess that would ensue, Sam had come to like the honest to goodness snowfalls her not so new home got. 

D.C.  Thoughts of her old stomping ground naturally turned to Paul and the small gift from him under the tree.  She had been trying to ignore it ever since the nondescript brown package had shown up on her porch and she realized whom it was from.  It had occupied various places in her home before she got the courage to open the box: hall table, coffee table, kitchen counter…  Finally Sam smacked herself figuratively upside the head and tore off the packing tape to find an elegantly wrapped present about the size of a book.  The dark green paper had gold stags printed on it, and the ribbon was gold mesh tied in a frothy bow.  And yet even with its appearance of sophistication, the gift still had an air of being lovingly wrapped at a kitchen table surrounded by an explosion of paper and tape and trimming.

Unable to stop herself, Sam had shaken the box, feeling something solid slide around inside and wondered what it could be.  Turning over the small card attached, Sam read the inscription.  _For Sam  -- Paul_ was written in a legible scrawl that was so different than what she usually saw.  The brief sample was more him than the clinical printing that came through official channels.  It reminded her of how he was during the trip in the elevator after she had skinned her knee; calm and collected, but teasing, masculine, and God, so sexy… 

Flushing at the memory of running her hand over his chest, Sam had placed the gift under her tree.  What on Earth had provoked her to do such an intimate gesture was beyond her.  Unless it was the sight of that broad chest, hidden so well under his uniform, or the feel of his arms around her, his warm skin against hers, that voice rumbling in her ear.

Sam resolutely put the gift and Paul from her mid, dismayed at how often that elevator ride came back to her.  And if she needed any help, all she had to do was look at the Colonel and remember the stare he had given them as they came off said elevator.  The speculative looks had tapered off, and as time passed Sam began to hope that the reprimand that she was sure was coming wasn't.  

Sighing, Sam brought herself back to the here and now, taking a sip of the hot tea.  A plate of chocolate walnut cookies-- part of a batch she had made Daniel for Christmas-- was within reach, but lay forgotten as she continued to watch the snow accumulate.  Already the front lawn was an even blanket, bumps from the grass and walk hidden.  The park across the street would soon have strangely shaped, snowy masses pretending to be play equipment.  The near silence was deafening, only the soft ticking of the clock and the hiss of the falling snow to break it.  

Sam huddled deeper into the blanket.  This Christmas Eve was not going as planned.  Jack and Joanna had gone to see their father, taking Rose and Teal'c along, and Daniel had taken off for New York and the Museum of Antiquities.  Mark and Debbie had decided to haul the kids down to Florida to her parents' for the holidays.  Jacob had hoped to make it back before the SGC was put on stand down for a week, but something had come up with the Tok'ra and put paid to those plans.

Her thoughts sliding back to Paul, Sam wondered what he was doing.  Virginia was two hours later than Colorado, he was probably sleeping.  A dull pulse, stronger than she would have thought, blossomed low in Sam's belly, reaching out to wrap around her heart at the thought of him tangled up in his bedsheets.  Almost of their own accord her eyes went to his gift, half buried under presents from family and friends.  Biting her lip, Sam put her mug down on the nearby table and crawled out from under the blanket, shivering slightly at the chill.  Digging the green and gold box out, she climbed back on the couch and pulled the afghan around her again.  She turned the gift over in her hands, letting herself wonder what was in it, imagining Paul picking it out, wrapping it, taking it to be mailed.  

Laughing a bit at herself, Sam gently tugged on the ribbon, slipping the bow off.  Not one to rip into a present, she broke the tape's hold and pulled off the paper.  A plain white box greeted her, no identifying marks from Hecht's or Macy's.  Sam lifted off the top and parted the silver spangled tissue paper, revealing a rosewood frame with a picture of her, Paul, and Bob II, taken in the photo booth at the El Paso county fair.

A smile broke out over Sam's face and she lifted the frame up, noticing October 2003 and the little pandas around the picture that had been burnt into the wood.  Holding the gift up to the light coming in the window, Sam saw that Paul had made the frame himself as well.  She turned it over to wonder at it, her breath catching in her throat as she saw it was a double-sided frame, and that it had another picture in the back.

This was the last picture they had taken; the one Paul had said was blurry because she moved.  There she was, her hand against his far cheek while she soundly kissed the other.  But it was the expression on his face that she couldn't look away from. It was the same one that crossed her face whenever she caught herself thinking of him: a bittersweet longing for something that could probably, would probably, never be.  An ache of loneliness so sharp it hurt ran through her, tears pricking at her eyes.

Sam glanced over at the phone, wondering again if Paul would be up at this hour.  Slowly her hand reached out and picked up the receiver, dialing the number she had rationally, at least at that time, memorized a month ago.  He probably wasn't even home, he did have family to go to…  Four rings later there was a click as the machine picked up.  _Hi, this is Paul; please leave what you need to so I can get back_--      

"'Lo?  Don't hang up, I'm here."  Sam stopped breathing as Paul's sleepy voice cut into the message.  "Hullo?"

"Paul?  It's Sam."  Her voice was low; the dark, the smothering snow, and her own mixed up feelings causing her to almost whisper.

"Sam?"  Paul sounded instantly alert.  "What's wrong, babe?  Is everything alright?"

The spontaneous 'babe' beat back the pain somewhat.  "I'm fine, I—I didn't realize how late it was, I'm sorry I woke you," Sam babbled, not sure what to say now that she was actually speaking to him.  "Thank you for the frame…"

"You opened your present early, Major Carter?"  

Running her thumb over the smooth wood, Sam smiled at Paul's teasing tone.  "Well, it was almost Christmas," came her wistful answer.

Something in her voice must have tipped Paul off, as he quickly asked, "Are you all alone?"

"Yeah.  But it's all right," she reassured him, not believing it herself.  

Paul scoffed.  "No one should be by themselves Christmas, Sam."

"I'm fine, really," she forced out.  "Anyway, the frame is lovely.  I didn't know you were so handy," Sam said, determinedly closing the subject.

"Sam… " Paul sighed, respecting her wish.  "My Dad is the woodworker, I just dabble.  Every time he gets a new toy he gives me the old one."

"Its beautiful, nonetheless."  Sam frowned, hearing noises from the phone like bare feet going down wooden steps.  "Paul?"

"I'm here," he said.  "I realized technically it's Christmas here, so I get to open your present."

"Oh, you don't have to… "  Sam cringed as her heard ripping paper, then a delighted laugh from Paul.

"Sam!  A Dudley Do-Right lunchbox!  I love it."

She sighed in relief, the pleasure in his voice obvious.  "Open it up," she urged.

"And tickets to 'Stomp' at the Kennedy Center.  Wow."

"I figured with as much pavement pounding as you do you might enjoy music made from it.  I left the date open so you can go whenever you want."

"Thanks, Sam, it's great."  The two sat in comfortable silence for a moment.  "You guys going to have a white Christmas?" he asked.

Chuckling, Sam looked out the window.  "It started snowing around six.  It's coming down slow, but steady.  They're predicting about two feet."

"We just have rain.  Damned depressing, if you ask me.  I'd rather have snow."

Suddenly she yawned, one that nearly split her face.  

"I can take a hint," Paul laughed.  "Go to bed Sam.  Wake up late and lay about all day."

"Good night, Paul."

"'Night, babe."

Hanging up, Sam returned the phone to the cradle.  The loneliness that Paul's voice had chased away came rushing back, ten times worse than before.  She looked down at her present, Paul staring back at her.  Sam closed her eyes against him, her fingers tightening around the frame.  Placing it by her mug, she turned away to look out the window at the falling snow.

~~~~~

Paying the taxi driver, Paul climbed out of the car and trudged through eighteen inches of snow up what he hoped was the front walk to Sam's house.  Under all this white he could be walking in her flowerbeds for all he knew.  He rang the doorbell, looking over at the weak sun just clearing the horizon.  Only waiting long enough to pack and book the soonest flight from D.C. to anywhere near Colorado Springs, Paul had left his house almost immediately after talking to Sam.

He rang the bell again, glancing at Sam's car still in the carport, the pristine snow unsullied by any tracks other than his own.  A shuffling sound from inside made him turn back; the door creaked open to show an astonished, sleepy, tousled haired Sam still in her pajamas, wrapped in an old afghan.  To him she was beautiful.

"Paul?"

He gave her a lopsided grin.  "I couldn't let you be alone on Christmas, Sam."   

*****


End file.
